


What Keeps Us Alive

by HissingMiseries (orphan_account)



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: A lil' bit of fluff, Affairs, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, But Robert's worse, Dysfunctional Relationships, I just wanted to write an angsty fic, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It's not my best fic but I loved writing it, M/M, Robert's a complete asshole in this btw, Tbh they both are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HissingMiseries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron and Robert. The beginning of the end - from beginning to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Keeps Us Alive

**Part One: Meeting**

* * *

 

Aaron often finds himself in places he doesn't want to be.

Sometimes it's in the woods, limbs pulsing as he runs five miles with water bottles in his backpack. Other times it's up against an alley wall, being messily fucked by a man he's known for less than two hours, stinking of alcohol and sweat. Once, it was with a gun to his head, and the contents of his pockets being emptied and whisked away by men in balaclavas.

The worst place he's ever been was sitting at his boyfriend's bedside, pouring drug-clouded liquid down his throat simply because he wasn't able to do it himself.

And now he's at his graveside, and four years has passed and the guilt, whilst gradually subsiding, is ever as stirring and stomach-churning as the second Jackson's heart stopped beating. A piece of Aaron died that day as well. His family and neighbours offered their support, gathered round and smothered him, churned out hollow sympathies that Aaron never asked for then carried on with their happy, spotless lives. Their world kept turning, their seasons kept on changing, meanwhile Aaron's world stopped dead. He slept by Jackson's grave for days, shivered in the biting night air, surrounded by cheap and wilting petrol-station bouquets wrapped in flimsy plastic, dead to the world.

He didn't shower, didn't eat, wore the same clothes for days on end, didn't speak to anyone and kept to himself. Jackson appeared everywhere he went, a constant lingering reminder of what he had done. He had killed the love of his life. He had fed him the poison which had drawn him from the world, from Aaron's world, which was falling apart fragment by fragment.

A series of meaningless hook-ups followed, and eventually it grew to a point where Aaron didn't feel it anymore. He just showed up, came, and left, aching and sticky and feeling just as shit as he had before.

But worst of all was the razors. Almost every night Aaron would lie on his bed and drawn the sheet of metal across his stomach or his arms, splicing the flesh, releasing warm, vibrant blood to the surface and feeling his nerve endings scream in protest at the foreign object severing them. With each line he cut deeper, longer, grit his teeth and bit down on rags, and each drop of blood that fell contained all the thoughts that had plagued Aaron's mind. All the self-hatred, all the repulsion, all the tears and anger leaked out of him, only to return a few hours later. A vicious cycle, an unstoppable one.

It was a pure mental breakdown, an implosion, one which Aaron hopes to never experience again.

 

~ 

 

Robert never wanted to return to Emmerdale.

He didn't want to see his brother and his stupid, conniving girlfriend, or his overbearing stepmother, but of course, the house which Chrissie had set her sight and soul on was the beautiful and extravagant Home Farm. A multi-floor mansion located directly in the heart of his shitty hometown, an incongruous diamond in the rough, and Chrissie liked, wanted,  _needed_  it. She also could afford it, so naturally, it swiftly became hers.

His family seemed somewhat pleasantly surprised to see him, and he wore a smile and greeted them politely and filled them in on his less-than-interesting happenings whilst he'd been away. How he'd met Chrissie, when they were due to marry, how his life was going. Robert's good at telling stories. He knows how to make them sound much more intriguing than they really are. He knows how to spin a tale.

As much as he loves Chrissie, sleeping in a house with her pretentious father and her creepy son isn't exactly a bundle of laughs, so he often find himself driving to nearby towns, spending hours in different pubs and meeting new, fresh-faced people. Occasionally he drinks one too many, stays the night in a hotel room or someone else's sofa - on the bad days, someone else's bed. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man. His preference differs. 

 

~

 

Aaron finds a man with blonde hair and strong hands at a neighbouring pub where he's allowed to roam without being recognised.

The man's drinking alone, obviously also a stranger here, so the possibility that they may just have something in common spurs him on in attempting to start a conversation. He's also pretty, sparkling eyes and jawline cut from stone, the hypnotising beauty reserved only for movie heroes or gods. A level of attractiveness Aaron can only dream of reaching.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"You from around here?"

"No. Are you?"

"Nope. I'm Aaron."

"Robert."

It's really that easy.

They talk for the rest of the night and Aaron swoons every time Robert smiles.

 

~

 

Robert fucks a man with dark hair and scarred skin that night, in a dingy hotel room with flickering lights and greying sheets.

Neither of them are sober, both of them are sticky and sweaty and drowsy with post-sex sleepiness, and both can agree that that was one of the best fucks either of them have experienced in a long time. Better than Chrissie, better than most one-night stands - Aaron's rough and eager and shameless, especially when loosened with alcohol and nicotine.

They're lying naked beneath the duvet, a sneaky cigarette in between Aaron's lips, when Robert traces a finger over one of Aaron's white scars. Aaron jolts like he's had an electric shock.

"What are these from?" Robert queries, voice husky and low, and Aaron frowns.

"Nowhere," he replies, defensive, and Robert decides to maybe leave it at that. No need to ruin a good night over something which he can probably guess the cause of. Tortured kid, depressed as a teenager, turned to the knife instead of the pills to deal with his first-world pain. There's no fresh scars, they're all faded and ageing, so Robert concludes that whatever triggered them has since been solved and dealt with.

"So, where are you from?" he murmurs, drowsy. His phone buzzes, vibrating against the surface of the bedside table, lighting up the room. Robert ignores it.

"Emmerdale," Aaron replies, taking a drag from the tube of tobacco. Robert makes a mental note to do his one-night stands further away from home next time. A Manchester boy, maybe, or a pretty little Leeds girl. Someone he won't remember, who won't remember him. "'m probably not gonna see you again after tonight."

Robert normally wouldn't have a problem with that, but Aaron was such a good fuck, he certainly wouldn't mind spending another night with him.

"What's your number?" Robert grabs his phone, swiping past the pestering texts from Chrissie, and Aaron just shakes his head.

"Don't know it off by heart." His mobile is back at home to ensure his mum can't interrupt anything with her frequent, paranoid calls.

"Nobody does, I suppose," he shrugs, letting the phone clatter to the floor. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three. You?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Cool," Aaron says, non-committal, the knowledge of Robert's age not affecting him in any way. Age is but a number. Aaron was too young to go off the rails when he did.

They kiss again, and Robert can taste cider and whiskey and rain on Aaron's lips, feel perspiration in his hair, feel the raised lines on his torso and can tell that Aaron's fragile, breakable. He leaves fingerprints behind, all over his temporary lover, just to ensure his memory will be left for at least a few days. Robert sure isn't going to forget a fuck like this for a while. He pities Chrissie, as it won't be her next time that he'll be thinking of.

They soon fall into an alcohol-induced slumber and bid farewell the next morning. Robert spins a tale to Chrissie the same way a spider spins a web and somehow he doesn't get tangled up in it. Sometimes she's so gullible, it's almost _too_ easy to cheat on her. Still, there's time before they wed. 135 days. 135 days for him to clean his act up and become the trusting, adoring husband he's been playing for the past year.

 

~

 

A few days pass and Aaron spends most of his time at the scrapyard where he works, or in his room, or going on one of his runs through the forest.

He enjoys the runs. They let him have time to himself, give him space to breathe and think, but he's also not just sitting and doing nothing, so he doesn't feel like he's being unproductive. He runs five miles a day, keeps in shape, and by the third day he's still sweating the alcohol from his night with Robert out of his system.

Robert hasn't been over yet. Aaron would be disappointed, but the 'address' he gave him was as vague as it could be. That and he hasn't gotten his hopes up in years. Things rarely go the way he plans.

So imagine his surprise when Robert turns up at the pub on the Friday evening, when Aaron's perched behind the bar serving customers, and he almost drops the pint in his hand when he sees him.

"Hello," he approaches with a wary smile. "Didn't think you'd actually show up."

"Well, I _do_ live here," Robert replies like it's common knowledge, and Aaron's just about to question why he didn't share that information a few nights back when the doors swing open and a woman walks in and practically dives into Robert's lap. She's gorgeous, just like Robert, and they fit together like jigsaw pieces and Aaron immediately learns his place right there right then. One-night stand of a curious, taken man. All he's ever been for most of the last four years.

"Hi!" she beams, voice musical and jingly, wrapping her arms round Robert's neck and Aaron retreats back to the bar, back to where he's used to being, back to where he's been most his life. Watching happy couples between sips of beer and feeling less than adequate.

 

~

 

Chrissie's close enough for Robert to see the details of her make-up and smell her perfume and feel the fabric of her coat tickling his nape. She's always been the cuddly, over-intimate type, a leech. Robert's a spider who spins webs. Maybe they are perfect for each other.

"Hey, I thought you and your dad were getting those lights today," Robert remarks, remembering Chrissie's anxiety of how she  _needed needed needed_ to get those twinkly fairy lights that are going to wrap around the trees and turn Home Farm into some kind of movie scene for a pretentious wedding reception of an equally pretentious couple. 

"Yeah, dad said that he'd do it," she replies, resting her head on Robert's shoulder, and Robert bites back a scowl. Lawrence. Of course. "Sooo, I was thinking..." 

Her voice lowers and quietens and Robert knows exactly what's coming next: an offer for either sex, or a romantic night out in a candlelit restaurant, maybe a movie at the local cinema, then sex as the night drags into morning. She's growing more clingy by the day. It's probably bad to feel smothered by your own fiancee but Robert's sure things will get easier once they've walked down the aisle. He'd put it in his vows if it was appropriate.  _I promise to sleep in your bed and only in your bed. I promise to make love to you and only you. I promise to stop leaving fingerprints on random people I meet and lying to you the next morning._

"Maybe we could have a night out tonight?" she finishes. After all, it's only been three days since their last night out. Clingy. Leech.

"I suppose I could clear my schedule," Robert smirks, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in for a familiar kiss to ensure her that yes, he's all hers tonight, he won't disappear. Often he wonders if she's aware of his infidelity, if the stuck-like-glue act is all her attempt to pull him back to Home Farm, to stop him roaming. Then again, he's seen Chrissie when steam starts pouring from her ears in fury, and he knows that if she did acknowledge his adultery, he'd have felt her wrath by now.

She kisses him again and Robert's grown so used to her taste there's no flavour on her lips any more. Maybe that's another reason for him straying: he yearns for different tastes. Aaron tasted of alcoholic rain.

Ah yes, Aaron. He's behind the bar, trying to conceal his discomfort and somewhat failing, somewhat succeeding. His eyes are darting round the room like he's following a fly, obviously trying to look anywhere but him and Chrissie, anywhere but the sight of his drunken one night stand in the arms of the person he's spent years of the bed with. You would have thought a single twenty-three year old would have grasped and abused the concept of a one night stand by now, not the soon-to-be-thirty engaged businessman, but there's always the odd ones out. Robert prays Aaron isn't a leech as well. The last things he wants are his threads becoming tangled.

So he breathes a silent sigh of relief when Aaron's attention is grabbed by another guy walking in, greeting him with a jolly smile that instantly brightens Aaron up and has him chatting and off of Robert's back. They look happy, like a couple themselves, but Aaron doesn't seem like the cheating type to Robert. Then again, Robert doesn't seem like the cheating type to Chrissie.

 

~

 

Aaron sleeps with Robert five days later, in the back of a barn, the most romantic of all venues to hold a second-night stand.

It's itchy and the blanket is rough and torn but that's nothing when Robert gets his hands all over him and opens him up and has him groaning. His skin's soft and freckly and his eyes are dark with hunger and it's not as rough and messy as their first night. This time they're both sober and aware of what they're doing and have regained their coordination. Aaron finds that Robert's neck is particularly erogenous, so of course he barely leaves it alone, and of course Robert goes out of his fucking mind more than once.

It was Robert's boredom that had triggered the whole thing. Everyone was out doing work, Robert was splayed lazily across the sofa, flicking through various tedious television channels, when he picked his phone up and texted Aaron (whose number he had finally achieved) to meet him in the barn. They both knew what was coming. Aaron certainly wasn't going to refuse.

They're laid next to each other, a mirror of their night in the hotel (except this time surrounded by hay bales), enveloped in a comfortable silence which Aaron soon takes an axe to.

"Didn't think this would happen again," he mumbles, and Robert lets out of a huff of laughter.

"Yes you did."

Aaron doesn't deny it.

 

~

 

Aaron tasted like cherry Coke that day. Robert can still feel it lingering on his lips. It disappears the next time he kisses Chrissie.

It's not until the next night when he realises just how _boring_ Chrissie is in bed. Yeah, he comes, but he comes with anyone. Robert supposes that's another downside to relationships - everything exciting and new and fresh gradually becomes adapted to, until it's replaced with just "average", then "repetitive", then downright "boring". And people wonder why he has commitment issues.

Robert knows he loves Chrissie - she's fucking gorgeous and funny and smiley and everything Robert wishes he could be. She fills his gaps, satisfies his needs, quenches a thirst and he knows that with her, he'll never be needy again. The prospect of living with her for the rest of his life is not at all something he shudders at. Slightly overwhelming, perhaps, but he knows the happy years will fly by before his very eyes.

At least that what he tells himself. He sleeps with three different people on a business trip in Sheffield, two boys and a girl, none as pretty as Chrissie or as fuckable as Aaron, but they're clean slates which Robert can taint.

Still, there's a hunger for something that none of these strangers satisfy - a certain touch, a specific feel that Robert knows belongs to twenty-three year old Emmerdale boy who Robert's only shagged twice but can map out his entire body, the exact placement of every freckle and every birthmark and every scar. He knows every sweet spot, every sensitive zone that makes him tremble and moan, and exactly how to approach them. He feels like he's known him for ages, like he was destined to meet and sleep with this particular person. Maybe that explains their simultaneous appearances at that pub too far away from home on that exact day.

Robert doesn't believe in fate, but aside from meeting Chrissie, that's probably the most persuasive argument he can conjure for it.

Or maybe he's just being ridiculous and it was a lucky coincidence. Besides, he's beyond positive that Aaron isn't thinking of him like this. As far as Robert knows, Aaron's single, enjoying life and probably hooking up all over town. Another notch on the bedpost and all that. An attractive young man in his sexual prime? He should never be _out_ of someone's bed. Then again, maybe he isn't the slut Robert is. Maybe he reserves his touch for someone he thinks deserves it, like the rest of the human population, someone he wants to give it to.

If that's the case, Robert feels slightly smug about it.

He spies Aaron in the Woolpack the next day, drinking alone and not looking particularly bothered by it, and he decides that maybe he could spend some time with him whilst they both have their clothes on.

"Hey," he greets casually, settling next to him and leaning on the bar, and Aaron raises a quizzical eyebrow. _You never talk to me. What do you want?_

"Hey 'up," he nods in reply, the uncertainty tainting his voice, and Robert smirks.

"Don't worry, I'm just here for a chat," he says and orders a pint from Chas, who offers her son a brief, motherly smile as she accepts Robert's money and stuffs it into the till. Her jacket's a stinging devil red and suits her strangely well, though it's slightly alarming every time she passes by in the corner of your eye. "Chrissie's out tonight, so d'you wanna go out for a drink somewhere?"

Aaron's still clearly bemused by the sudden friendly approach from a man he's had more sex than conversations with, but he goes along with it. Robert's unsure as to what his goal actually is - the probable drunken sex that will conclude the night, or a genuine night out, trying to discover any common interests or things to do beside each other.

"Erm... yeah, okay," Aaron nods, a shadow of a smile on his lips, and Robert finds himself wondering what they taste like today.

"Great. It's a date." Robert retreats back to his table where his waiting bride-to-be sits, stirring her drink lazily and mulling over the budget for that wedding reception she's finally got the catering arranged for.

 

 

**Part Two: Growing**

* * *

 

Aaron and Robert's "drink" goes surprisingly well and ends just as they both predicted it would.

Not only is Robert gorgeous, but Aaron also discovers he's actually rather intelligent, as they discuss various topics over a selection of different drinks, ranging from football to movies to their personal histories. Well, the latter conversation was particularly one-sided. Robert had no trouble reminiscing the day he met Chrissie and the day he came back to Emmerdale and even times before that - amusing work anecdotes, the strange characters he's encountered and bedded - and it never once is vapid. Robert sure knows how to tell a story.

Aaron, on the other hand, opts for the shrug and the "nothing interesting, really". Ignores the last six years of his life entirely. Robert doesn't pester. He's seen the scars. He knows Aaron doesn't want to talk about it, and the reluctance to discuss the details of recent years leads Robert to think that maybe those scars are more recent than they appear.

And of course, they fuck. Why wouldn't they? This time it's less than classy - a tiny cramped room in an empty B'n'B - but it's just as good as last time. Aaron tastes like lime. Robert's supercharged tonight. And it's all interrupted when Robert's phone begins buzzing frantically and doesn't stop for five minutes straight.

Much to Aaron's despair, Robert eventually picks up his phone and checks it to be attacked by a cluster of notifications informing him that he has nine missed calls from Chrissie, and it's obvious that either something dreadful has happened, or Robert has been too engulfed in his time with Aaron that he's forgotten to feed Chrissie an excuse for his absence. It's the latter.

He finishes an irritated Aaron off, leaves his fingerprints, gives him a quick kiss goodbye, licks the lime from his lips and dashes home.

Aaron sleeps in the B'n'B, and for the first time since Jackson, notices the empty side of the double bed.

 

~

 

Robert spins Chrissie a tale and she believes him, and clings to him all night.

110 days until the wedding. Chrissie's counting it down on a calender, striking off each day with excited red crosses and going into meticulous planning over every detail of their big day, no matter how insignificant. Colour schemes, selections of wine, seating arrangements, anything which doesn't affect the ceremony in any way, Chrissie shoves to the top of her list. The dress is all bought and paid for, tucked away from Robert's occasionally prying eyes, but he doesn't really want to ruin the surprise. He knows she'll look drop-dead gorgeous in whatever she wears.

110 days. Just over three months. Three months to become loyal. Three months to become trustworthy. Three months to stop whatever he has with Aaron and devote himself to his wife.

But he knows he doesn't want to finish things with Aaron. He doesn't even know what him and Aaron are.

Casual fucks? Friends with benefits? He doesn't want to write Aaron off as the pair of arms he runs to when he has nothing better to do. He knows that's not all he is.

Hey, Robert's only human. There's only a number of times you can fuck someone before you start to care about them.

Aaron's just so _secretive_ , dismissing almost all questions regarding his past, answering in as little detail as possible and sometimes just blatantly refusing to give an answer. From the few details Robert's managed to salvage, there was a previous boyfriend called Jackson, who Aaron seems very reluctant to discuss. When Robert asked what this Jackson fellow was like, Aaron's eyes examined the liquid in his glass, swirled it round a couple times before eventually replying, "He was great. Things just didn't work out." Clearly Robert isn't trusted yet. He's determined to change that.

Robert was smart enough not to bore and discomfort Aaron with anything on the subject of his own home life - he's aware it's less than appropriate when in the company of his (currently) three-night-stand - so they spent most of their night out drinking and playing darts (Aaron won by a hair each time) and Robert managed to convince him to have a go on one of the crappy pub quiz machines for a laugh (they won £20). Then when they were crawling the pavements and spied the B'n'B, all they had to do was look at each other and they knew where the night was headed.

They're far from being friends yet.

 

~

 

An anniversary rolls round that Aaron doesn't want to face. He wants to lock himself in his room and curl up into a ball and ignore the world until the day ticks over to tomorrow. But he doesn't, because Jackson would have killed him if he did that, so he gets up and roughly throws on some clothes and heads on down to the graveyard.

Jackson's grave is shiny and speckled grey and Aaron remembers every inch of it from the days he spent sleeping beside it during the early days of his grief. There's no flowers surrounding it anymore, it looks painfully lonely, but Aaron knows that's only because he's the only person who was remotely close to Jackson left in the village. His mum understandably left, not wanting to be haunted by the memory of her son everywhere she looks. Aaron has dealt with it, powered through it, and somehow emerged scathed, but alive the other side.

He touches the cool slab, feeling the smoothness of the stone, and bites back the tears that threaten to spill. He despises how easy it is to make him cry. He isn't going to cry today.

"It should've been me," he mumbles, talking to the ground, to Jackson. "It should've been me, mate. You can do more good than I do."

The clouds gather and rain begins to patter down. Aaron ignores it.

"I've not done much with my life, Jack." It's true. He's done fuck all within those four years. Hooked up with people, experimented with powders sold to him in nightclubs, drunk entire weeks of his life away and watched his weight fluctuate dramatically as a result from the exhausting runs he subjected himself to. Just the thing every twenty-three year old should be doing. Crumpling up and falling apart.

"I've met someone," he says quietly, more to himself than his late soulmate. "He's engaged, of course. I'm officially a homewrecker. Are you proud of me?" He adds the last question with a sarcastic scoff of disapproval, before his voice quietens again, and his stomach begins to flip. "We're not even together; we barely talk. But..." he chews on his bottom lip. Aaron's never been good at vocalising his feelings. "You know when you can just tell when something's just... got the chance... of... fuck, I don't know. Being _special_?"

The rainclouds swell and the downpour increases. Aaron's soaked but he doesn't care.

"I like him, y'know? It's not going to work out, though. It'll have to stop before the wedding."

Aaron prays Robert doesn't invite him to the ceremony, just for a kick in the teeth, the intentions of proving to Aaron that whatever they have isn't real and is now over the minute they finish exchanging vows. The man's adamant that he'll stop cheating once he becomes Chrissie's husband. Aaron's not entirely sure if he believes him, but he doesn't wholly doubt him either.

"I miss you, mate," he says, and he feels his eyes begins to fill with hot, salty tears he decides to let fall down his cheeks, camouflaged in the rain. It's too fucking easy to make him cry. He practically remained in a permanent state of dehydration after Jackson's death. It's impossible for him to argue with anybody without welling up, instantly demoting his status and making him look as weak and broken as he knows he is.

His phone buzzes. Text from Robert. _Chrissie's out today. Wanna come round?_

 _Maybe later,_ he taps in reply. _Now is not a great time._

 _Why not?_ returns seconds later. Aaron's surprised he can get a signal in this weather.

_It just isn't._

_Fine._

Aaron isn't sure what to deduce from that final text, so he tucks it back into the pocket of his jacket and wipes his eyes roughly with his palm. He knows he needs to head back inside when his teeth begin chattering from the chill of rainwater seeping through his clothes.

 

~

 

"I'm definitely not your first guy, am I?" Aaron asks as he lies shirtless next to a barely-clothed Robert in one of the multiple unused bedrooms of Home Farm, one which none of the residents of the mansion ever venture into. Robert smiles a dopey grin, still slightly dizzy from the feeling of Aaron all over him, and shakes his head.

"The rest were one night stands," he replies, and Aaron frowns ever so slightly - what does Robert categorise _him_ as?

"So you've never slept with a one-night stand more than once before?" Robert grins again at that question, and he extends one long, freckled arm and wraps it round Aaron's shoulders, both comforting and possessive and Aaron sinks into him with a grateful sigh. 

"I suppose none of them have left the impression you did," he answers with a smirk, and greatly enjoys the fleeting expression of confusion and smugness and genuine happiness all rolled into one that crosses Aaron's face. He looks adorable in the hazy lighting, with drooping eyelids and tired muscles and a lovebite or two on his neck, the personification of post-coital fatigue. He tastes like sugary tea today.

"How long until the wedding?" Aaron asks after another comfortable silence, and Robert shifts slightly at the mention of the topic.

"Just over three months." Robert can't even remember the exact date. Wow. He didn't realise he was this lousy of a fiance.

"And this all has to stop then?" the reluctance is detectable in Aaron's voice, and Robert swallows the lump in his throat.

"Yeah," he answers, firmer than he first intended. "I love Chrissie. Once I exchange vows with her, there's no way I'm cheating on her."

He can sense Aaron's biting back a further comment, and decides against questioning him on it. There's no point. The silence has already begun to grow awkward and irritating; Robert can feel Aaron squirming and shifting slightly beside him, the bed suddenly growing cold.

"Well, I guess we'll have to make do with the time we've got, then," is all Aaron says after a while, and Robert breaths a sigh of relief that no argument has broken out, and the smile returns to his face, the lazy, sultry smirk that makes Aaron's dick stir and his heart flutter.

"Exactly," he murmurs, nearing his lover, and pecks at his bottom lip, tasting the sugar and the tea leaves. "She isn't my wife yet for another three months. We've got a while."

Aaron musters a smile, the biggest he can, and draws Robert closer, crawling atop him and pushing him down into the ivory sheets. Just over three months. Might as well use it before it's all pulled away from him.

 

~

 

The first person to find out about Robert's infidelity and Aaron's involvement isn't exactly pleased about it.

They're aware it's risky - the bar's buzzing with punters, Chas and Diane are darting round, selling drinks and delivering food and Marlon's busy chopping carrots in the kitchen. Anyone could come down the corridor at any minute and catch them, but they barely lasted around five minutes before Robert has Aaron pinned up against the counter, planting wet, hungry kisses down Aaron's throat. Aaron's too occupied shuddering and unravelling under Robert's lips to hear the door swing open and the sharp intake of shocked breath. It's not until his eyes open slightly when he spots someone watching them.

Chas stands, a picture of bewilderment, eyes jumping between them in search of some explanation of the image in front of her. The boys spring apart, suddenly feeling very sheepish.

"Pardon my French, but what the _fuck_?" she squawks, and Aaron and Robert exchange anxious looks, both faces flushed red with embarrassment and arousal. "Wh... how... how long has this been going on?!"

"A while," Aaron replies, voice low and mumbly and barely audible. Whilst he looks like a child who just got caught stealing from the sweet jar, Robert looks more angry, infuriated by the fact that his secret isn't his own anymore. There's danger of it getting out, back to his family and Chrissie.

"You're fiancée's out in the bar, wondering where you've gone," Chas snaps at Robert, whose eyes immediately widen. "I think this is a pretty good explanation."

Robert's positively seething at this point, and he gives Aaron's arm a quick stroke, the most reassuring he can make it, before he brushes past both of them and disappears back to the bar, piecing together the tale he's going to spin in his brain.

"So not only is he cheating, but he's gay too?" exclaims Chas, brows drawn together with bemusement, and Aaron instinctively shushes her, aware of the volume her voice can reach when she's angry. "Aaron, the man's getting _married_ soon-"

"You think I don't know that?" he hisses back with unexpected spite, and Chas straightens up, arms folded indignantly across her chest. "Don't go stirring up trouble, Mum, please."

"I think you've done a good job of that yourself," she replies. "I-I mean, how did this even start?"

"It's a long story."

She sighs, exasperated. "This isn't good for you, son. What happens when he gets married?"

"Then it's over. End of."

"What, and it'll be that easy, eh?"

Aaron knows she has a point, but he refuses to listen. Stubbornness seems to be a trait that's only been strengthened since he met Robert.

"Please, son, get out of this. Before you get hurt."

 

~

 

Another week and a half drags by, tedious and monotonous, with Robert spending most of his time swallowed whole by extravagant wedding plans. He's delighted to be getting married, but the flamboyant ceremony his bride craves means nothing to him. It could be them in a barn with a cow as the vicar and he'll be happy, but no, Chrissie opposes him. She wants the show, something to leave a memory, as if the gold band that'll decorate her third finger isn't enough of a reminder. At least the reception will be held in the Woolpack, where Robert can disappear into the toilets for a few minutes to retrieve his breath back when he gets too cramped.

He finds himself thinking about Aaron a lot, during the days he doesn't see him. Not just at night, in his dreams (though he certainly did make several appearances in them), but throughout the day, as well. During boring conversations in business meetings, whilst typing emails to demanding clients, during the advert breaks of a television show he's had barely any time to watch. Just the mundane things - wondering how he's doing, what he's up to, if he's having a good time, why he's not answering Robert's calls.

Robert can only assume that Chas has talked her son into breaking things off before he "gets in too deep", which is only more annoying. Robert's not sure he'll be able to make it through the next few months without Aaron to talk to -  after all, behind all the lust and the sex, Aaron's a fun guy to talk to. He laughs easily, laughs at clever, witty statements. He's sarcastic to the eyeballs, has a soft spot for cider, and supports Liverpool. Adam's so lucky to have him as a best mate.

He whips out his mobile, taps a hasty text, hoping he doesn't sound obsessive. _You still ignoring me?_

No reply in ten minutes.

_Come out for a drink later?_

No reply.

_I'll be in the pub we met in._

His phone informs him that Aaron's read the texts, so he slips his phone back into his pocket and waits a while before getting into his car and driving off out of the village.

 

~

Aaron makes his way into the pub, and it's bustling with people, enough to make Aaron have to push his way through with a few 'excuse me's. If Robert has shown up, Aaron knows where he'll be.

Robert's perched at the table in the corner, an untouched pint in front of him, upturning a beer mat in his hand with obvious boredom. He looks up and spots the familiar face approaching him, and his expression softens to one of relief and fondness.

"Didn't think you'd actually show up," he smiles, an echo of Aaron's first proper words to him.

"Okay, look," Aaron says, and the tone of his voice isn't promising. Robert's smile falters. "I think we need to finish whatever this is."

"Is this your mum's doing?" he asks with venom, and Aaron's brow creases.

"No, I've finally come to my senses," he replies. "You're getting married soon, and then this just stops dead. Better to get it over with now."

"Do you want it to be over?" Robert queries, and Aaron looks down, tracing the grooves in the table to avoid meeting his lover's eyes. Eventually he mumbles a 'no', and Robert leans forward in his chair. "Well, neither do I."

"So what now?"

Robert can't give him an answer - he doesn't know. So instead he leans forward and kisses him, ignoring the looks he gets from the surrounding punters, and Aaron lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

To anyone observing, they look like a couple. A young, infatuated couple, with no obstacles or burdens. And yet, after a drink and possibly a back alley hook-up (they're classy like that), Aaron knows that Robert's going to head back to Home Farm, kiss Chrissie goodnight and sleep in her bed and wake up the following morning to wedding plans. It's eating him away, waiting for the days until Robert shows up in the Woolpack, sporting a polished wedding ring and a whole new loyal attitude.

He wouldn't dream of telling Chrissie. He doesn't want either of them to suffer all the agro it will cause.

About an hour later, Aaron has Robert up against the cold brick alley wall, out of sight, cupping his cheek and kissing him feverishly. No matter what situation they're in, as long as they're alone, they don't last long before they're all over like a rash. Aaron's usually good at resisting temptation.

He drops to his knees, tugs at Robert's belt buckle, and before long Robert's practically biting through his bottom lip to stop himself screaming. His words come out fast and rushed between half-heartedly suppressed moans, strings of curses in ecstasy, and Aaron loves every second of it. He knows Robert, knows how to make him tick, how to make him unravel. He knows him like the back of his hand.

Robert's suddenly lashing ribbons and catching his breath back, crumpling against the wall and clearly still sky-high. He looks like he's in Wonderland, and it's during these five or six seconds of dizziness when Robert breaths something Aaron never thought he'd hear in his life.

"Fuck, I love you."

Aaron's unsure if Robert even knows he's said it, but it's there, already beginning to replay over and over in Aaron's head to make sure he isn't hearing things. It stays on repeat for the rest of the day before Aaron downs a couple of sleeping pills that force him into an unnatural slumber. He'd never sleep again any other way.

 

~

 

Robert knows. He knows what he said and he doesn't regret it.

Now he's just waiting on Aaron's answer, because if Aaron feels the same, it's another knife in the back of him and Chrissie.

He's marrying Chrissie. He's marrying his gorgeous, exuberant, clever, seductive fiancée, who'd he give up his entire world for. They were made to meet. It's fate.

Yes, Robert, keep saying that. Keep thinking that.

 

~

 

80 days till the wedding. Nothing from Aaron.

70 days. Still nothing.

60 days. Still nothing.

50 days. Robert's car breaks down. Aaron fixes it. Robert asks if they want to go out for a drink. Aaron turns him down.

40 days.

30 days. Chrissie grows more and more ecstatic by the day. Robert's still waiting for an answer.

20 days. They exchange uncertain glances in the Woolpack. Brush past each other when they leave. No words.

15 days.

10 days. Aaron drinks himself to sleep, having still not worked up the courage to tell him. It's too late. He runs ten miles the next day with rocks in his backpack.

5 days. The venue's booked, everything's sorted out, Chrissie and Lawrence and Robert are combing through the details, looking for any dropped stitches or potential hiccups.

1day. Robert's phone buzzes. _Meet me in the barn in ten minutes. I need to talk to you._

 

 

 

**Part Three: Falling**

* * *

 Chrissie loves Robert. Robert loves Chrissie. Aaron loves Robert. Robert loves Aaron. Robert doesn't know what to do.

 

~

 

Robert arrives at the barn and it looks exactly how it did when they were lay there, under a blanket, scratched rough by straw and still just a second-night stand. Aaron's perched on a hay bale, toying with his phone, visibly fretting when the door swings open and Robert walks in. He's got his hands buried in his pockets, the epitome of casual, but he can feel his guts doing twists and turns inside of him. This isn't going to go well.

Aaron looks up, takes a deep breath and stands, jaw clenched.

"Go on, then," Robert starts. "Say what you're here to say."

The hostility in his voice throws Aaron sideways a bit, and he stutters when his tongue manages to produce the words.

"Did you mean it?" The look in his eyes begs Robert for a genuine answer, and Robert chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds and he debates on his answer.

"Yeah." Just like that. Just one word and Aaron feels like he's about to cry. He doesn't, thank fuck - the tears are blinked back before they even dare to brim his eyes, and before he can react, Robert's lips are on him, hands wandering all over him, crushing and suffocating and Aaron pushes him off just so he can breathe properly. Robert frowns, not used to being shoved away, and retreats back a few paces. Aaron tastes overwhelmingly of whiskey. It stays on his lips like an irritant.

"What's up? I thought this was what you wanted," Robert frowns, and Aaron scoffs, feeling a tear begin to roll down his cheek. He wipes it away swiftly, pulling his sleeve over his hand, embarrassed at the mess he knows he's going to become if him and Robert keep arguing. It's too fucking easy to make him cry. Way too easy.

"Why are you getting married? You can barely stay loyal for more than a day," he spits, and Robert's jaw tightens - mostly because of the insult, but partly because Robert knows he's spot on.

"I'm marrying Chrissie because I love her and I want to spend the rest of my life with her." Emphasis on "love" and "life". Aaron tears up again.

"It can't be that good if you're looking elsewhere," he says as more tears come, hot and angry and relentless. Robert can feel his heart cracking. "How many people have you slept with since you met her? I know I'm not the only one."

"Well you're going to be the last!" Robert's voice echoes off the walls, bouncing round the hay bales and the inside of Aaron's head. He's seething at this point, stepping forward and cornering the younger man like some kind of animal, making his point known. "Look, I'm not apologising for you not being able to get it through your skull that we're _over_."

"And that's it, is it?" The wind picks up outside, starts hammering at the barn door. "We just go back to being strangers?"

"We don't have to," Robert shrugs, and Aaron laughs at the stupidity that stands in front of him.

"Oh, because _that's_ easy. Every time I have to repair your car, or pass you in the pub, I just ignore you?"

Robert just nods. It starts raining outside, hard, incessant.

"And what about tomorrow, eh?" Aaron's hand delves into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a crumpled square of cream-coloured card, decorated with swirly black print and glossy and perfect, and throws it at Robert's feet. He doesn't blink an eye. "You know your fiancée's invited me to your wedding? That's a kick in the teeth, isn't it? You getting wed whilst your gay lover sits in the crowd."

"No one's forcing you to come."

"Robert, for fuck's sake, you're clearly not ready to be married!" Aaron doesn't care that he sounds like a nagging wife. Robert will have to get used to that if he's going to spend a lifetime with Chrissie. "D'you really think just because you get married, you're just going to change? If you were sleeping around whilst you were engaged, a different ring isn't going to stop that."

"I'm not listening to this," Robert scoffs, and yanks open the door, filling the barn with wind and revealing the rather adverse weather conditions outside. "If you want to be immature about this, then go ahead. But me and you are over. End of."

"I love you, you stupid fuck," Aaron yells before he can bite it back. Not the most affectionate reveal of adoration, but it certainly grabs Robert's attention. He looks down at the floor, the cogs in his head almost visibly turning, and it looks like he's blinking back tears himself. But then he's gone, out in the sheets of precipitation, and the sound of his car's engine revving and driving away fills the air.

Aaron's now pretty much a puddle of tears, hyperventilating and messy, exactly how he knew this was going to end before he even got himself into it.

He heads back home and drinks himself to sleep on the couch. The wedding's tomorrow. He isn't going.

 

~

 

The Woolpack's alive with music and people chattering and congratulations flying through the air. Robert's in the centre of the dancefloor, embracing his beaming wife who smells like jasmine and orange blossom and tastes as bland as always. Aaron's nowhere to be seen.

He's not surprised at Aaron's absence. He's even less surprised that at the reception of his wedding, he isn't thinking about his wife, but the twenty-three-year old man with dark hair and scarred skin who he feels more at home with than anyone. More than Chrissie, more than Andy, more than Diane.

But then again, after yesterday's mess, he doubts Aaron will ever want to see him again.

The music's too loud and Chrissie's too clingy (leech) and the guests are too overbearing and Robert feels far too cramped to stay in here much longer, so he feeds Chrissie a half-hearted excuse that causes even _her_ to frown with suspicion, but Robert's not around to see it. He's too busy scouring every area he can think of where Aaron might be.

He's not in the garage. He's not in the café. He's not in the village.

Robert sights and returns to the pub, a smile plastered on his face and the churning feeling of regret beginning to brew in his stomach.

 

~

 

Aaron doesn't even know whose bed he's in. He's too drunk to care.

He's covered in hickeys and lovebites and bruises and the room smells of sweat and sex. The man he's just bedded sleeps peacefully beside him, facing the wall and curled up slightly, and Aaron needs to get out and away and into somebody else's bed before he gets too comfortable here.

He quietly gets dressed, sneaks out and ventures into another club. Finds another boy. Blows him in the toilets. Drinks some more. Finds someone else. What all single twenty-three year old's should be doing - going out and getting drunk and having fun.

This isn't really fun, though. With every drink and every careless fuck, he grows more numb, until he's passed out in a crappy little B'n'B he remembers from sometime before.

He looks a fucking mess the next morning, complete with pale skin and bags until his eyes and a powerful, crippling headache, but he's been in this situation plenty before so he knows how to deal with it. A cold shower brings him out in goosebumps, but the following wave of warm water helps bring some colour back to his cheeks and soothe the ache. When he's able to think straight, he pulls his clothes back on and walks home, grateful for the fresh air.

Not even ten minutes after he gets back home, someone knocks on the door, and Aaron answers it.

"You look like shit," is Robert's greeting, and Aaron just rolls his eyes and steps aside, reluctantly allowing him in.

"What do you want? Don't you have a wife to run to?" He doesn't even bother disguising his bitterness, and the look of sympathy that Robert shoots him just annoys him more. "Or have you already broken your vow?"

"I wanted to make sure that you're alright," Robert replies, frowning. "Didn't realise that's a crime now."

"Drop dead," Aaron spits with a shake of his head, and begins his ascent up the stairs before he feels two hands clutch his shoulders and pull him back down, forcing him to confront the person he really doesn't want to see. It's too much of a reminder - no amount of alcohol can make Aaron forget Robert, the way he touched him, the way he held him like he was _someone_ worth caring about. Like Jackson did. And like Jackson, Robert's been ripped away from him.

"If you don't first," Robert says, and his lips are close and Aaron can't resist. One last time.

 

~

 

Aaron tastes like alcohol again, powerful and intoxicating, and Robert has to use all his might to pull away.

"No," he says, though it's weak and clearly reluctant and Aaron sees through it like glass. Another kiss, more alcohol and Robert pulls away again, refusing with a bit more firmness.

"We're done."

He watches as Aaron sighs, lets out a deep, shaking breath, then disappears up the stairs, stomping around like some kind of baby elephant. He's never felt more shit in his life.

 

~

 

He knows he's being pathetic, pining after someone he can't have. He knows he's got to get over it or he'll never be able to move on. He's been through this all before.

Three long weeks pass, some days Aaron can't even remember, but it's when he's in a nightclub, looking round for a quick shag, when he bumps into a man with clearly the same intentions. They fuck in the toilets, the grimy, cramped toilets with graffiti-stained walls and pills littered round all over the place, the classiest of hook-up locations.

He's twenty-five, dark haired and blue eyed, and undeniably attractive. Model-looking, belongs in a underwear advertisement. Before, when they were hanging out in the bar, he introduced himself as James. Aaron didn't care, but he smiled and said his name was Aaron.

Aaron thinks of Robert when he comes, and immediately feels guilty afterwards.

 

~

 

Robert thinks of Aaron every time he sleeps with Chrissie. Every time he kisses her boring lips, every time he hugs her, every day he subjects her to a one-sided marriage, he thinks of Aaron. The cruellest of injustices a married man can do.

He's not just lusting after him. He misses him. and along with his family, grows increasingly more concerned when Aaron doesn't come home two nights in a row. He joins a pissed-off Chas on a search for him round the neighbouring towns, asking round to see if anyone's encountered the name "Aaron Livesy", or the man in the photo Chas keeps in her purse.

Robert feels a stab of jealousy when the owner of an all-too-familiar B'n'B announces that yes, she saw that man a few days ago with another bloke, and Chas shoots him a dagger look as they leave.

("I don't know why you're looking at me like that."

"I swear to God, if we don't find my son, I am telling Chrissie everything."

"And what's that going to achieve?"

"It'll let her know how much of a prick you really are.")

They do find Aaron eventually, sitting in a backstreet café with a mug of lukewarm tea, clearly hungover and looking incredibly sickly. He rolls his eyes when he spots the pair, and debates refusing to go with them, but at home is a decent shower and a comfy bed, so he goes along with them.

 

~

Aaron's lips don't taste of anything anymore. The alcohol's there, never-changing, and Robert's grown used to it.

"Go home to your wife, Robert, seriously."

"No."

"Go _away_."

" _No_. You can't keep doing this to yourself. You'll make yourself ill."

"Why do you care?"

"You know why."

"You've got Chrissie."

"I love you as well."

"Stop saying that. You chose her, you can't say that anymore."

"Wh-"

"Go away, Robert. I deserve better than you."

"And you aren't going to come running back when you get drunk again? Begging for one last chance. You don't get over things well, do you?"

"You won't be hearing from me anymore. This is what you wanted."

"I never wanted _this_. I wanted _you._ "

"Well it's too late. I don't need you and I don't want you." (Liar). "Leave me alone."

Robert looks shocked and Aaron looks firm. Aaron shoves him away, a bit too roughly but he doesn't care. He needs him out out _out_ of his life before he gets in any deeper. The door slam sounds permanent.

 

 

**Part Four: Dying**

* * *

A week later, Aaron finds a man with blonde hair and shaking hands at a neighbouring pub where he goes to escape.

Robert fucks a man with dark hair and tasteless lips in a cold back alley, keeps his eyes down when the man pulls his jeans back up and leaves, shivers in the biting wind.

They don't say a single word to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> So I have a lot of feels today and I decided to try and write some shitty angst.  
> My tumblr is http://hissing-miseries.tumblr.com :)


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